


metanoia

by Gildedstorm



Category: Mushishi
Genre: Gen, Gift Fic, hazily canon, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:30:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4305162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedstorm/pseuds/Gildedstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what we call home, and what we don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	metanoia

“Are you sure you must leave so soon?”

The land is, admittedly, beautiful, far more verdant than many areas he's passed through. Everything is flourishing. That, really, is the problem – everywhere is the faint, silvery pollen that's brought this village such a bounty of crops and greenery. Everywhere, too, are small mushi, coiling around flowers or settling in trees, lured in by the pollen. It's a neat trap made by the mushi that's made its nest in the woman before him, though she looks no worse for wear despite that.

If he stays, this place could be the death of him. It already has enough problems as it is, besides, without another one pulling the mushi in.

I have to,” he says, not the first time he's said it, and breathes out a thin stream of smoke.

“Well,” she says reluctantly, “We owe you so much already... but if you must.”

Ginko leaves the next morning, leaving behind the feeling of gathered generations, traditions built in layers, and if he's a little wistful, well – the mountains loom before him and the air is clean. That's enough, for a start.

 

* * *

 

His path isn't always so easily bittersweet.

“It must be nice, drifting back and forth without any worries. Keep drifting and leave us to our problems, why don't you? You don't live here – you can't truly _care_!”

“As long as I'm here, I care about what happens,” he points out, voice calm and steady. Steadiness is important, when dealing with these types. People become rooted over time, burying themselves in traditions and bonds and family. It can make them blind to change, or resentful of people like him, going through their lives like an errant wind. Ginko can't quite understand it, but then, he can't grasp many things about villagers – the way they bristle up when he questions how they do things, or close ranks when he tells them that it'd be best to leave.

Drifting around has its dangers, but settling seems just as bad. Surely the weight of it would leave him no room to breathe in the end.

He leaves this village just as quickly, and with no regrets at all – he won't be missed.

 

* * *

 

It's a year and a half when he's on the brink of the mountains again, and the village throngs with life, even as the land around it has dulled from how it was before. It's safer, though – he sees only trace amounts of mushi, all tiny and harmless.

“Ah, so the herbs are working?” he asks, as the tea steeps.

“Yes! I've been breathing in the steam, just like you said. It's a shame about the rice, though... we used to have such a good harvest.”

“It's better this way. Besides, now you earn everything with your own efforts, don't you? That's something to be proud of.”

The conversation meanders on for a while – she's engaged, and laughs helplessly into her hands when she tries to brag about it – until, like a stream it reaches where it was always meant to.

“Are you still traveling? Surely you could stay for a little longer, this time.”

“No, I'm afraid not.”

“Well... isn't it lonely?”

That brings him up short. Ginko thinks back – not to the darkness at the beginning of his memories, flatly absolute, but to the countless faces, the stories he's drifted through. The other mushishi, vain or humble, desperate to save the people around them or quietly seeking appreciation. Tanyuu, drinking in his stories and penning them down, combining passion with duty. The mushi themselves, even the ones that dwell in darkness and wait for him.

He squints. From here, his own smoke and the steam from the tea looks almost the same.

“No... not really.”

**Author's Note:**

> metanoia:   
> (n.) the journey of changing one's mind, heart, self or way of life.


End file.
